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Tie  Wings  :  A  Drama  ir 
•ne  Act  :  by  Josephine 
'reston  Peabody. 


iamuel  French  :  Publishei 

18-30  West  Thirty-eighth  St.  :  New  Yorl 

LONDON 

Samuel  French,  Ltd. 

26  SOUTHAMPTON  STREET,  STRAND 
PRICE  TWENTY-FIVE  CENTS 


The  Wings  :  A  Drama  in 
One  Act  :  by  Josephine 
Preston  Peabody. 


Samuel  French :  Publisher 

28-30  West  Thirty-eighth  St.  :  New  York 

LONDON 

Samuel  French,  Ltd. 

26  SOUTHAMPTON  STREET,  STRAND 


Revised,  1917,  by  Josephine  Preston  Peabody 
Copyright.  1917,  by  Josephine  Preston  Peabody 


CAUTION.— This  play  is  fully  protected  under  the 
Copyright  laws  of  the  United  States  and  is  sub- 
ject to  royalty  when  produced  by  amateurs  or 
professionals.  Applications  for  the  right  to  pro- 
duce "  The  Wings  "  should  be  made  to  Samuel 
French,  28  West  38th  St.,  New  York. 


ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


"  The  Wings  "  was  produced  at  the  Toy  Theatre, 
Boston,  January  15,  1912. 

All  acting  rights  are  reserved  by  the  author. 


THE  WINGS. 

r 

DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

CERDIC. 

yELFRic  the  King. 

BRUN. 

EDBURGA. 

i' 
TIME  : — Northumbria  before  700  A.D. 

i 

THE  WINGS 

BY  JOSEPHINE  PRESTON  PEABODY  \ 

?  

TOY  THEATRE 
Jan.  15,  1912 

DRAMATIS  PERSONS 

CERDIC Mr.  Churchill 

^ELFRIC  the  King Mr.  Rawson 

BRUN Master  Pellegrini 

EDBURGA Mrs.  Briggs 

NORTHUMBRIA  BEFORE  700  A.D. 
SCENE  DESIGNED  BY  MR.  LIVINGSTON  PLATT. 


THE  WINGS 


(The  SCENE  passes  within  a  low  hut,  Saxon-built. 
At  back,  a  small  window-space,  and,  centre  a 
doorway,  past  which  the  seabirds  fly  in  a  gray 
light. — Against  the  right  wall,  a  seat  and  a 
shelf  with  one  or  two  great  books,  a  half-loaf 
of  bread,  and  a  lamp  without  a  light.  Near  by, 
a  large  unlighted  lantern. — On  the  left  wall,  a 
rude  wooden  cross;  below  it,  a  bench  with  a 
slab  of  stone  upon  it,  covered  over;  mallet, 
chisel  and  other  tools.  Also  to  the  left,  a  low 
door,  now  shut,  leading  to  an  inner  cell. — Twi- 
light of  a  bleak  day) 

(Enter  BRUN  the  fisher-boy,  doubtfully.  He  looks 
from  bench  to  books,  and  shakes  his  head. 
There  appears  on  the  threshold  behind  him  the 
figure  of  a  woman,  EDBURGA,  in  a  long  cloak. 
BRUN,  when  he  turns,  waves  her  back  with  a 
gesture  of  warning  entreaty.) 

BRUN. 

No  more,  but  wings  and  wings!    And  still  no 

light. 

He  is  not  here,  for  all  the  night  be  wild. 
The   wind   cries   out; — there   will   be  broken 

wings, 
And  they  do  vex  him,  ever.    Nay,  forbear ! 

(EDBURGA  stands  in  the  doorway.) 
5 


6  THE  WINGS. 

Gudewife,  forbear!    Ye  may  not  step  within. 

He  is  not  here,  although  the  door  stood  wide ; 

See  you,  the  holy  Cerdic  is  not  here. 
EDBURGA. 

Where,  then? 
BRUN. 

God  wot !    'Twill  be  a  mickle  hap 

That  holds  him  fast;  and  no  light  litten  yet. 

The  light  is  wanting. — Do  not  come  within; 

Bide  yonder. 
EDBURGA. 

Wherefore?    Wit  ye  who  am  I? 

(He  shakes  his  head.  She  draws  aside  veil  and 
wimple,  discovering  a  young  face  and  long 
braids  of  red-gold  hair;  then  she  steps  in  arro- 
gantly, to  his  dumb  distress.  While  he  replies 
in  abashed  singsong  to  her  questions,  she  looks 
about  her  with  something  between  scorn  and 
curiosity. ) 

Deem  ye  the  holy  Cerdic  hides  away? 
Or  that  I  come  for  naught?    — What  art  thou 
called? 

BRUN. 

Brun,  son  of  Wulfstan.  .  .  . 

EDBURGA. 

And  what  dost  thou  here? 

BRUN. 

Ye  bade  me  lead  you  hither  from  the  shore, 
See  you ; — therefore  I  came.    Often  I  come, 
Likewise  to  bring  the  holy  Cerdic  bread, 
And  tidings  from  the  Abbey.  ...  Ye  can  hear 
Our  bell,  save  when  the  wind  will  be  too  high, 
At  vesper-time  and  curfew. — He  would  fast, 
Ye  wit,  till  he  were  like  the  lanthorn  yonder, 
As  ye  could  see  a  light  through,  if  let  be ! 
Then  I  row  hither,  or  across  the  bar 


THE  WINGS.  7 

I  come  here  at  low  water,  and  bring  bread. — 

And  if  I  did  not,  sure  the  Angel  would. 
EDBURGA. 

Sooth ! 
BRUN. 

All  folk  say.    Once  I  lay  by  to  watch, 

Till  nigh  I  heard  it  coming.    For  I  dread 

Some  day  the  Angel  seize  me  by  the  hair ! — 

Lady,  ye  wit  no  woman  can  be  here, 

In  holy  Cerdic's  cell. 
EDBURGA. 

Was  this  thy  dread? 

And  dare  no  townsfolk  come? 
BRUN. 

Save  they  be  sick 

And  sore  possest,  no  higher  than  the  door ! 

But  ye  have  come  within.    Pray  now,  go  forth ! 
EDBURGA  (stealthily). 

And  I,  worn  weary,  I  must  forth  again 

Into  the  wet,  for  that  I  am  a  Woman? 
BRUN. 

Needs  must  ye  take  it  ill  to  be  a  woman. 

But  see,  there  is  a  tree  to  shelter  by, 

A  dark  tree  yonder,  hard  upon  the  dune. — 

Forsooth,  all  womankind  he  should  mislike; 

And  beyond  that,  men  say  it  was  a  woman 

Drove  Cerdic  from  the  King. 
EDBURGA. 

Men  say?  .  .  .  What  men? 
BRUN. 

Sooth,  did  ye  never  hear? 
EDBURGA. 

What  do  men  say  ? 
BRUN. 

It  was  for  chiding  the  King's  light-o'-love, — 

I  wot  not  who,  no  more  than  ye ; — 
EDBURGA. 

Her  name 

Is  called  Edburga. 


8  THE  WINGS. 

BRUN. 

Ay,  an  evil  woman ! 

She  was  it,  brought  mislike  upon  the  King, 
And  Cerdic  bade  him  leave  her. — And  the  King 
Would  not ;  but  still  she  wasteth  all  his  days, 
And,  for  her  sake,  he  hath  no  mind  to  wed. 
And  he  was  wroth ;  and,  likewise  for  her  sake, 
He  drove  the  holy  Cerdic  from  the  town. — 
But  Cerdic  found  our  island.    And  they  tell, 
His  faring  here  must  bring  a  blessing  down. — 

EDBURGA. 

Ay,  hath  it  fallen  yet?    Methought  the  isle 
Looked  bare  enough,  and  starven ! 

BRUN. 

Nay,  not  yet. 

But  likewise  there  are  curses  in  the  court ; 
And  men  cry  out  on  ^Elfric. — Wit  ye  well, 
Their  longing  is  for  Cerdic  home  again. 

EDBURGA. 

And  Cerdjc,  will  he  hence?    When  the  King 

comes, 
With  shining  gifts!     (Between  her  teeth.) 

BRUN. 

If  he  put  her  away, 

It  may  be  ...  See  you,  Cerdic  is  so  holy, 
They  tell  he  will  not  look  upon  a  woman 
When  he  must  speak  with  them.     But  I'm  a 

man : 

I  talk  with  him,  and  look.    And  so  I  too 
Would  not  have  spoke  with  ye,  but  that  ye 

came 
To  ask  the  way 

EDBURGA. 

Unto  that  holy  man.  .  .  . 

Yea,    truly!      I    would    see    and    speak    with 

Cerdic. 
Ye  deem  he  cometh  hither  soon? 

BRUN. 

God  wot ! 


THE  WINGS.  9 

He  hath  a  Book  here  that  he  reads  upon ; 
Likewise  he  knoweth  how  to  grave  on  stone, 
With  pictures  like  to  frost.     But  oftentimes 
All  day  he  standeth  on  the  rocks,  adream, 
So  stark  the  sea-birds  have  no  fear  of  him, 
But  graze  his  face  in  flying.    So,  belike, 
It  is  a  Vision  that  doth  keep  him  now ; 
For  still  the  light  is  ever  lit,  by  now. 
He  will  be  coming.  ...  Ye  must  bide  beyond. 

EDBURGA. 

Go  thou.    And  I  will  follow  to  thy  tree, 
There   to   sit  down  .  .  .  and  pray  .  .  .  till   I 

behold 

Thy  holy  Cerdic  coming. — Have  no  fear ! 
See :  I  will  wrap  my  mantle  round  my  hair, 
As  holy  men  would  have  us  do. — Such  peril, — 
And  dear  enchantment,  in  a  woman's  hair! 
So :  'tis  my  will  to  stand  thus  in  the  wind, 
Now,  while  the  sun  sets,  and  until  the  Fiend 
That  rends  me,  have  his  own ;  or  Cerdic 

BRUN. 

Woe! 

The  Fiend! — 

EDBURGA. 

That  dwells  in  Woman :  thou  hast  said. 

BRUN. 

Woe  that  I  brought  ye  here  to  Cerdic's  cell ! 

EDBURGA  (undoing  a  scarf  from  her  neck). 

Nay,  thou  wilt  never  rue  it. — Take  this  scarf 
So,  knotted  thrice, — unto  the  farthest  rock, 
Where  thou  shalt  bind  it  to  that  only  bush, — 
The  thorn  thou  shewedst  me ;  and  so  let  hang 
That  the  sea- winds  may  sift  and  winnow  it. 
This  if  thou  do — and  look  not  back  again, — 
And     say     thy     prayer,     likewise,     for     holy 

Cerdic ! — 
There  shall  no  hurt  come  nigh  thee  from  the 

Fiend. — 
But  I  must  bide  by  yonder  starven  pine, 


io  THE  WINGS. 

i 

Till  Cerdic  pass,  ...  to  shrive  me. 
BRUN  (terrified). 

Ay,  go  hence ! 

There  doth  he  bless  the  sick. 
EDBURGA. 

I  follow  thee. 

And  may  the  saints  forgive  it  to  this — saint, 

There   stepped   upon   his   threshold   one   poor 
woman, 

Seeing  he  knew  not! — I  will  after  thee. 
BRUN. 

Nay,  do  not !  Sooth,  I  will  as  ye  have  said. 

EDBURGA. 

Never  look  back! 
BRUN  (terrified). 

By  holy  Guthlac,  never! 

When  ye  are  shriven  .  .  .  take  the  self -same 
way 

Back  to  the  shore.  .  .  . 

(Running  out.) 

God  shield  the  holy  Cerdic ! 

EDBURGA  (alone,  stretching  out  her  arms  with  sav- 
age relief.) 
God  crush  the  holy  Cerdic,  with  His  shield ! 

(She  looks  about  her,  between  curiosity  and  aver- 
sion; then  begins  to  sing  with  exuberant  defi- 
ance of  the  place.) 

If  the  moon  were  mine 

For  a  silver  cup. 

Ah,  but  I  would  fill  it  up 
With  red  wine,  red  wine! 
Then,  O  love  of  mine.  .  .  . 

{She  stops  singing  as  she  comes  to  the  bench  with 
the  covered  stone,  and  draws  near  to  look,  as 


r  THE  WINGS.  ii 

if  it  fascinated  and  repelled  her;  then  she  turns 
away,  silent.  From  the  doorway,  she  seems  to 
listen;  then  calls  through  her  hands  in  a  soft, 
high  voice,  like  the  wind.) 

JEliric  .  .  .  the  King!     (Exit  EDBURGA) 

(The  door  blows  shut  after  her.  Deep  twilight 
falls.  There  is  a  pause,  filled  with  the  crying 
of  wind  and  of  seagulls.  Then  the  low  door 
in  the  left  wall  opens,  and  CERDIC  gropes  his 
way  in,  carrying  a  taper.  He  is  a  young  monk 
with  the  keen  face  of  a  mystic,  worn  white 
with  fatigue.  He  seems  half  tranced,) 

CERDIC. 

The  darkness  here.  .  .  .  Need  be,  I  fell  asleep. 
Sleep,  sleep  for  me,  and  in  the  daytime! — Ah, 
The  little  sleep !    Could  I  not  watch  one  hour  ? 
Yea,  Lord,  for  all  the  hours  of  day  and  night ; 
Save  that  in  sleep,  the  wings  stoop  near  to  me 
I  grasp  for  vainly,  waking.  .  .  .  Was  it  sleep? 
Or  were  they  here,  the  voices  and  the  wings  ? — 
Not  yours,  beloved  birds !    Not  yours  that  beat 
Gray  through  the  wind  and  wet,  in  search  of 

me. — 

Lady  of  Heaven !     Forgive  me  that  I  slept, 
Forgetful  of  thy  birds,  to  call  them  in 
And  break  my  bread  with  them. — 

(He  goes  to  the  shelf,  and  taking  the  loaf  down, 
breaks  and  scatters  it  from  the  doorway,  after- 
wards closing  the  door.) 

Take  all— take  all! 

For  I  have  slept;  and  I  am  filled  indeed, 

With  manna  and  with  light. 

Yet,  O  thou  Blessed ! 


12  THE  WINGS. 

If  my  poor  prayer  and  longing  may  avail, 
Like  hands  of  need,   dragging  thy  garment's 

hem, 

Vouchsafe  to  me,  here  in  my  wilderness, 
One  sign  to  ease  the  hunger  of  my  heart, 
That  calls  and  echoes,  prays  and  hears  the 

prayer, 

Echoed  and  ebbing,  till  it  surge  again ; 
High  tide, — low  tide, — but  never  any  word. 
High  tide, — low  tide;  never  a  face  to  see! 

(He  comes  down  to  the  bench.  From  his  taper  he 
lights  the  lanthorn,  and  sets  it  by;  then  rever- 
ently he  lifts  the  covering- cloth  from  the  stone, 
to  look  upon  his  work.) 

Our  Lady  of  all  Comfort.    Rose  of  Heaven ! 
Could  I  but  make  her,  here,  as  in  my  dream, 
That  blessed  Face, — the  stone  should  put  forth 

might 

Unto  blind  eyes,  and  they  would  look,  and  see ! 
Ah,  when? — Poor  scribbled  track,  sore  pitiful, 
Of  wingless  longing!  Here  the  Face  should 

be; 
With    this    gray    blankness    where    the    eyes 

would  shine, 

More  lovely  blue  than  ever  twilight  sea. 
And  here  would  be  her  hair; — a  golden  wave 
Of  sunset,  ebbing  redly  in  the  west  .  .  . 
Her    hair.  .  .  .  But    never    can    I    make    her 

hands, 

Like  to  those  palest  roses  that  did  grow 
Close   to    the    Abbey    wall.  .  .  .  Ah,    could    I 

know, 

Even  in  a  dream !    Since  unto  lowlier  men 
Than  blessed  Luke,  she  hath  vouchsafed  to  see 
Her  very  face. — Comfort  this  halting  tool, — 
Quicken  this  stone !    Let  not  the  earth  go  dark 
Of  such  a  likeness  for  men's  hearts  to  keep, 
Beautiful,  on  the  altar  of  that  temple 


THE  WINGS.  13 

Whose  walls  be  blazoned  with  the  shapes  of 

earth, — 
Scribbled  and  scarred  with  basest  names  and 

things, 

Foul  upon  clear ! — Even  as  my  Dream  did  fade 
When  some  voice  in  my  soul,  more  ware  than  I, 
Thrust  me  awake,  crying,  "  JEli ric — the 

King!" 
And  I  awoke,  and  heard  no  more. — 

(Lifting  his  face  with  shut  eyes.) 

Let  be ! 

There  shall  no  hurt  come  near  my  dream  of 

thee; 

But  I  will  count  a  thousand  dawning  suns, 
Patient,  so  be  that  on  some  dawn  of  day, 
Thou  lean  from  out  of  heaven,  and  I  may  see 
Thy  face  like  dawn  above  thy  Star-in-the-East, 
Mother  of  all  the  motherless, — God's  Mother ! 
And  still,  though  I  should  count  the  thousand 

years, 
Still  shall  my  heart  be  ready. 

(The  wind  shakes  the  door;  and  the  gulls  go  by.) 

— Ah,  the  wings! 

Ever  thy  birds,  the  while  I  hark"  for  thee. 
Never  thy  word,  but  only  call  of  birds, 
And  waves  and  wind,  and  evermore  the  wings 
Of  sea-gulls  that  I  hear  with  quickened  heart 
Of  hope :  because  they  knock  upon  my  door, 
Knocking  and  mocking,  ever !    Be  it  so. — 
Lady  of  Heaven,  beside  thy  flock  of  stars, 
Who  broodest  over  this  mid-world  as  though 
It  were  an  ailing  lamb,  I  wait  for  thee. 
I  harken,  and  my  heart  is  at  the  gate  .  .  . 
My  soul  doth  wait,  as  a  poor  vacant  chamber, 
With  the  door  wide  like  famine,  but  for  thee; 


14  THE  WINGS. 

Ay,  and  the  torches  waiting  for  a  fire 

White  from  the  stars, — not  breathing,  save  for 

thee. 

O  Moon  of  Pity,  if  this  loneliness, 
And  the  sore  heart  of  man  that  knows  but  how 
To  seek  a  home,  can  ever  draw  thee  down, 
Lean  from  thy  glory  with  thy  mother-looks ; — 
Lean  down  to  bless, — follow  thy  pity,  down, — 

Down  to  this  solitude. Let  me  once  look 

On  Thee ! 

(A  knocking  on  the  door.  CERDIC  looks  up  with 
fixed  eyes.  The  door  swings  open,  and 
EDBURGA  stands  on  the  threshold,  her  veil 
shadowing  her  face,  the  two  long  golden  braids 
hanging  below,  upon  her  breast. — She  steps  in, 
and  stands  regarding  him  for  a  moment;  then 
speaks  in  a  voice  without  emotion  of  any  kind.) 

EDBURGA. 

Knowest  thou  me? 

(CERDIC,  as  in  a  trance,  crosses  his  arms  on  his 
breast.  His  face  grows  radiant  with  beatitude. 
Without  giving  sign  of  her  bewilderment, 
EDBURGA  comes  forward  slowly,  facing  him. 
Then  she  loosens  the  veil  from  her  head  and 
the  cloak  from  her  shoulders.  They  fall  about 
her  feet;  she  stands  richly  arrayed.  CERDIC 
sinks  upon  his  knees.) 

Behold  me.  .  .  .  Thou  art  Cerdic. 
CERDIC  (in  a  far-off  voice). 

Lady,  thou  knowest. 
EDBURGA. 

Yea,  thou  hast  well  said. 

I  know  thee  what  thou  art.     Thou  dost  not 
know 

What  I  am. — Dost  thou  dream? 


THE  WINGS.  15 

CERDIC. 

It  well  may  be  ... 

I  dream. 
EDBURGA. 

Wake    then.      For   thou    shouldst   know    me, 
Cerdic. 

(He  does  not  move.    She  regards  him  with  a  closer 
curiosity. ) 

Make  me  some  firelight  here.    For  I  am  cold. 
CERDIC. 

Lady,  have  pity  that  my  heart  is  shamed 
And  my  poor  home  is  witless  of  the  fire, 
What  warmth  may  be.     I  had  no  thought— of 

this. 
EDBURGA. 

Wake,  Cerdic.     Tis  no  dream.     Albeit  thine 

eyes 

Never  looked  yet  on  mine.    Guess,  who  am  I? 
Thy  lips  have  used  my  name.     Why  art  thou 

dumb 
But  now? 

(He  answers  in  a  joyful  prayer.) 

CERDIC. 

Thy  grace  must  needs  unseal  this  mouth. 
Thou  knowest. — Give  me  leave  to  tell  of  thee, 
In  words  like  golden  harp-strings ;  but  to  tell 
How  all  the  air  is  summer  with  thy  coming, 
And  morn  doth  flush  the  furrows  of  the  sea ! 
Yea,   how   thy   voice   hath   fallen,   like  white 

manna, 

To  fill  the  craving  hunger  of  the  soul 
That  longed  for  God  and  thee. 

(She  recoils  with  sudden  contemptuous  laughter.) 

EDBURGA.  ,'„,__, 
Nay,  for  us  twain! 


i6  THE  WINGS. 

This,  then,  is  Holy  Cerdic,  who  would  look 
Upon    no    woman !  .  .  .  Thou,    who    wouldst 

have  us 

Forswear  ail  earth,  for  heaven  somewhere  out- 
side, 

Tell  me,  O  wise  one,  of  this  precious  rede : — 
How  to  keep  both,  shut  fast  in  godly  hands ! 

(CERDIC,  stricken  aghast,  reaches  towards  the  fal- 
len mantle  and  touches  it  in  horror,  to  make 
sure.  As  his  vision  breaks,  he  rises  and  stands 
back,  striving  to  master  his  anguish.) 

Dreaming,  good  sooth !    You  touch  it,  to  make 

sure, 

Dreamer  of  far-off  women  ?    But  this  dream 
Is  a  true  dream ;  as  I  am  very  Woman. 
Nor  shalt  thou  bid  me  go  till  I  have  said. 
So  mild  thou  wert,  before  I  made  me  known ! 
CERDIC  (gravely). 
Known,  maiden? 

(She  regards  him  keenly;  then  goes  to  the  door, 
shuts  it,  and  turns  towards  him,  with  triumph 
growing  in  her  looks.) 

EDBURGA. 

Nay,  then ! — I  will  tell  thee  more. 

How  shouldst  thou  know  me?     I  am  the  first 

woman, 

Haply,  thine  eyes  have  met;  and  so,  like  Eve, 
Older  and  wiser  than  thou ! — I  come  to  tell, 
First,   of   the   few,    far  things   thou  dost  not 

know ; 
Then,    of    thyself,    thou    knowest    less    than 

all;  .  .  . 

Then  .  .  .  what  a  pitiful  King's  Counsellor 
Thou  wert, — too  craven  to  behold  a  woman ! 


THE  WINGS.  17 

CERDIC. 

No  longer  give  I  counsel,  well  or  ill, 

Unto  the  King.    Another  counsellor 

He  hath  preferred  before  me;  for  whose  sake 

I  am  an  exile,  and  this  place  my  home. 

EDBURGA. 

Haply  it  was  Edburga? 

CERDIC. 

Even  she, — 

The  King's  Edburga. — If  I  have  been  craven, 

Speak  out  thy  hurt.    For  I  will  hear,  and  learn. 

(He  lights  the  lamp  also,  from  the  lanthorn;  then 
stands  with  his  arms  folded,  looking  at  her 
calmly.  She  begins  with  a  cold  irony  that 
grows  passionate.) 

EDBURGA. 

Ay,  learn. — If  that  Edburga  drave  thee  here, 
Bethink  thee,  that  Edburga  was  a  woman. 
Learn  that  there  was  some  strength  around  her 

then, 
Stronger  than   thou,   to   drive  thee   from  his 

heart — 

^Ifric  the  King's — and  from  the  city  gate ! — 
The  woman's  strength,  the  one  might  that  is 

Woman. 
And  though  ye  give  and  take  us  as  your  own, 

What  is  it  that  ye  flee  from  and  ye  fear  ? 

Dreading   this  .  .  .  Softness,   once   it   be   un- 
chained ! 

Con  thy  blank  heart.    For  I  will  write  in  it 
The  runes  that  might  unriddle  thee  the  world; 
And  thou  shalt  ponder  them,  one  little  hour, 
Looking  upon  me. — Nay,  I  do  not  come, 
Save  but  in  hatred.    Thou  art  safe  from  all 
Thy  heart  can  fear,  and  long  for — and  despise ! 
I  hate  thee ;  and  I  tell  thee ;  and  I  come 


i8  THE  WINGS. 

To  speak  thee  sooth,  and  at  my  going  hence 

To  leave  full  goodly  token  that  I  hate. — 

But  thou,  look  back  and  be  the  wiser, — thou ! 

When  I  did  enter,  ere  we  came  to  speech, 

What  was  it  bowed  thy  knees  before  me  here 

Against  thy  will?    Thou'rt  dumb.     Why  then, 
poor  clod, 

What,  but  this  weird  which  thou  couldst  never 
face?— 

This  little  power-and-glory-all-f or-naught ! 

What  save  one  Woman?     And  that  one,   to 
thee, 

The  basest  woman-weed  in  all  the  world! — 

Edburga ! 
CERDIC. 

Ah,  my  God!    No,  no. 

EDBURGA. 

The  King's— 

The  King's  Edburga! 
CERDIC  (apart). 

Ah,  forgive — forgive  .  .  . 
EDBURGA. 

Prayest  me  now  forgiveness  ? 
CERDIC  (sternly). 

Nay,  not  thee! 

Not  thee. 
EDBURGA. 

Then  haply  heaven :  that  thou  wert  moved 

By  this  poor  beauty  that  I  wear  upon  me? — 

Waste  not  thy  prayer.    The  peril  that  I  bring 

Is  nothing  strange ;  'tis  old  and  grim  and  free. 

Have  I  not  said,  I  come  to  tell  thee  of  it? — 

And  what  I  am  that  reckon  with  thee? 
CERDIC. 

Speak. 
EDBURGA. 

I  am  Edburga,  and  the  daughter  of  Ulf. 

My  mother  was  a  slave.    For  she  was  sold, 


THE  WINGS.  19 

And  given  in  her  youth  unto  Svanfleda, 
Sister  of  Ulf, — a  just  and  holy  woman; 
Who  bought  and  set  her  free,  for  Ulf  to  wed, — 
And  had  it  written  in  the  gospel-book, — 
When  that  his  heart  clave  to  her. — That,  O 

monk, 
Thou  canst  but  hear,  not  heed!     And  I  was 

grown, 

When  Ulf  came  to  be  made  an  ealdorman. 
And  Bertric  would  have  taken  me  to  wife, 
Save  that  I  came  before  the  eyes  of  JElfric 
The  King;  and  so  ... 
—What  are  you,  men  and  monks, 
That  you  may  give  us  unto  such  an  one 
To  bind  your  lands  together  ?    Or  to  bring 
The  sum  of  twenty  spears  or  more,  to  follow 
You,   at   the   man-hunt? — Women   bring   you 

forth, 

As  Darkness  cherishes  the  doomful  light 
Of  the  Sun,  that  being  grown,  shakes  his  bright 

locks 

And  puts  all  to  the  sword ! — I'll  not  be  given 
To  Bertric,  would  that  Bertric  have  me  now : — 
I,  a  free-woman,  and  the  gladlier  free, 
That  being  yet  unborn,  I  was  a  slave ! 
I  am  a  creature  rooted  in  the  dark, 
But  born  to  sunlight  and  the  noble  air. 
I  will  to  give ;  and  I  will  not  be  given. 
I  fear  not  right  nor  left,  nor  east,  nor  west; 
Nor  thee ! — For  that  I  have  is  all  mine  own 
To  give  or  keep.    And  I  am  all  I  have. 
And  I  am  ^Ifric's, — for  a  kingly  gift. 

(A  bugle  sounds  distantly.     Neither  hears  as  they 
face  each  other  fiercely.) 

I  reck  no  more.    But  thou,  thou  shadow-thing, 

Unwitting  what  or  men  or  shadows  be, 

And  '  hearing  of  my  name  and  how  time  sped  ', 


20  THE  WINGS. 

And  fearing  for  the  council  and  the  peace, 
Thou  wouldst  have  hurled  my  one  gift  of  my- 
self 

Into  the  dust ;  and  called  all  men  to  see, 
And  curse  and  stone  me  hence:  and  if  thou 

couldst ! — 
As  there  were  no  degrees  'twixt  mire  and  me. 

0  thou  wise  Cerdic,  hear  the  end  of  this. 

For  thy  '  King's  Peace/  thou  hast  so  ploughed 

the  state, 
And   turned   the   people's   heart   against   their 

King, 

That  now  they  clamor  for  their  holy  man ! 
Like  rain  and  snow,  two  names  make  dim  the 

air 

With  '  Cerdic  '  and  '  Edburga  ' ! 
CERDIC. 

1  knew  not  this. 
EDBURGA. 

Quoth  he !    Thou  hast  it,  now.    Yet  even  so, 
Truly,  thou  wilt  not  come  again,  to  rule!  .  .  . 
Thou  piece  of  craft,  I  know  thee.     Dost  thou 

think 
Cerdic  shall  win?    Or,  haply,  base  Edburga? 

The  King  is  here,  without  .  .  .  and  nigh  at 

hand, 
Coming  with  torches. 

(Lifts  her  hand  to  listen.) 

...  Ay! 
CERDIC  (dazed). 

The  King  is  come.  .  .  . 
EDBURGA. 

Yea,  so. — Tho'  thou  be  traitor,  he's  a  King; 

And  thou  hast  been  a  one-time  counsellor. 

He  comes  to  say  farewell  .  .  .  And  I  am  first, 

To  shew  thee  something  of  this  world,  before 


THE  WINGS.  21 

Thou  tak'st  thy  leave  for  that  far  other  world 

Thou   knowst   so   well; — and   liker   home   for 
thee, 

Than  this  warm   Earth   so   full   of   seas  and 
sun, — 

Too  golden — like  my  hair!  .  .  . 

The  tide  is  in. 

It  was  low  water  when  I  walked  across ; 

But  I  did  seal  my  name  upon  the  shore ! 
CERDIC. 

yElfric  is  come  .  .  . 
EDBURGA. 

I  have  said. — And  ^Ifric's  men. 
CEDRIC. 

Thou  speakst  not  truly.    JElfric  is  a  king, 

Though  he  be  young. 
EDBURGA. 

But, — Cerdic  or  Edburga ! 
CERDIC. 

Not  thus  for  JElfric !    He  bore  love  to  me. 
EDBURGA. 

Ay,  long  ago.  .  .  .  For  any  of  the  earls 

He  would  not  so  have  done. — It  was  for  me. 

Save  thyself,  Holy  Cerdic! — 

(She  points  to  the  door  with  ironic  invitation. 
CERDIC  turns  towards  the  bench,  and  grasping 
his  mallet,  looks  on  the  carven  stone,  lifting  the 
cloth  from  it.  She  sees  with  amusement.) 

Let  us  see 

How  monks  may  fight!  .  .  . 

(He  covers  the  stone  and  faces  her  with  sudden  in- 
dignation, still  grasping  his  mallet.) 

Stout  tools  they  look:  and  thou  hast  need  of 

them. 
If  thou  wilt  cling  to  such  a  meagre  life, 


22  THE  WINGS. 

Who  scants  a  moment?    Surely  not  the  King! 
Yet  dost  thou  look  not  now,  as  when  I  came, 
Kneeling  adaze  before  me !    And  belike 
I  seemed  not  thus  to  thee. — What  I  did  seem, 
I  wonder  yet,  O  blind  man  with  new  eyes ! — 
I  wonder  yet. 

(The  Abbey  bell  sounds  faintly  far  off.    It  is  fol- 
lowed by  confused  sounds  of  approach.) 

CERDIC. 

Hear,  then!    Thou  sayst  truth: — 

How  much  of  truth  I  may  have  time  to  tell 

thee, 

Thou  bitter  truth,  Edburga ! — When  I  kneeled, 
Not  knowing, — for  my  heart  was  worn  with 

dreams, 
Mine  eyes  were  worn  with  watching, — I  had 

prayed 

Only  to  hear  one  knock  upon  the  door; 
Only  to  see  one  Vision,  that  I  strove 
To  carve  there  on  the  stone.  .  .  .  There  came 

a  knock, 
There    stood    one  ...  at    the    door. — And    I 

looked  up, 

And  saw  in  thee  what  I  had  prayed  to  see ; — 
And  knew  not  what  I  saw,  believing  thee — 
God  rede  to  me  this  day  in  Paradise 
The  meaning  of  that  mock! — believing  thee 
The  Vision  ...  of  all  pity  and  all  grace, 
The  Blessed  One,  the  Mother  of  Our  Lord ! — 
EDBURGA. 

Out !    Mock  me  not. — Be  still — 
CERDIC  (with  anguish). 
The  Blessed  One  !— 
Believing     thee  .  .  .  the     Mother     of     Our 

Lord!  .  .  . 

(EDBURGA  gives  a  strange  cry  and  falls  huddled 
against  the  door,  with  her  veil  gathered  over 


f  THE  WINGS.  23 

her  face,  as  CERDIC  breaks  the  stone  into  frag- 
ments. —  There  is  a  bugle-blast  without,  and  the 
sound  of  voices  and  steel;  then  a  blow  upon  the 
door.  CERDIC  hurls  away  the  mallet.) 

Could  spears  bite  out  this  broken  heart  of  a 

fool, 

And  tear  it  from  me!  — 
Bid  them  in, 
VOICE  (without). 
Come  forth  ! 

(Enter  ^LFRIC  alone.  The  open  door  shows  the 
torches  outside.  CERDIC  faces  him,  sternly 
motionless.  EDBURGA  is  crouched  by  the  door- 
way, her  face  covered.  The  King  looks  from 
one  to  other  in  amazement.) 


Where    was    thy    signal?      Twice    I    sounded 
horn.  — 

(To  CERDIC.) 

I  bade  thee  forth.    Why  cam'st  thou  not? 

Is  Cerdic 
Afraid  to  die?  — 

.  .  .  What  makes  Edburga  here? 
Thou  wert  to  give  me  signal.  .  .  .  What  be- 

fell? 

Thou  cowering  in  thy  veil  ?    When  have  I  seen 
This  thing  ?  —  Speak  !  — 
EDBURGA  (faintly). 

JElfric  .  .  . 

JELFRIC. 

Up  !    Rise  up  and  speak. 
Come  forth,  out  of  thy  veil  ! 
EDBURGA. 

I  cannot  . 


24  THE  WINGS. 

-^LLFRIC. 

Come.—  J 

.  .  .  Look  up.  — 
EDBURGA. 

Let  be.  ...  Ah,  ah!  ... 
^LFRIC  (fiercely). 

Out  .  .  .  from  thy  veil! 

(Still  she  shrinks,  covered.     He  turns  on  CERDIC, 
drawing  his  sword  with  a  cry.) 

Thou  diest  !  — 

(EDBURGA  flings  herself  against  him  and  clasps  his 
knees,  reaching  up  towards  his  arm.) 

EDBURGA. 

No,  ^lf  ric,  no.    But  give  me  time  !  —  Not  yet. 
Let    be  ...  I    do    not    know  ...  I    do    not 

know  .  .  . 
I  cannot  tell  thee  why  .  .  . 


Thou  wilt  not  speak? 
EDBURGA. 

Yea,  soon.     .  .  .  Be  patient,  .  ,  .  hear! 

(In  a  gasping  whisper.) 

.  .  .  Put  up  thy  sword. 

Thou  plead  for  him?    Am  I  become  thy  fool? 
For  he  it  was  so  called  me,  on  a  time  !  — 
Speak.  —  Hath  one  hour  stricken  thy  mind  from 

thee? 

Art  thou  Edburga?    And  am  I  the  King? 
What  was  the  spell?  —  For  whom  was  ambush 

set? 

Gods  !  —  I  would  make  all  sure,  but  I  am  loath 
To  shame  the  King  I  was,  before  my  thanes. 


THE  WINGS.  25 

(He  pushes  the  door  shut  and  stands  against  it, 
holding  his  sword  drawn.) 

Answer,  Edburga.  —  Was't  for  me  or  thee, 
I  took  this  errand  on  me?    Thou  hast  said 
One  of  you  twain  must  live,  the  other  die.  — 
To  death  with  him. 
EDBURGA. 

It  shall  dishonor  thee. 


Bid  in  the  hands  to  do  it.  —  For  that  cause 

Thou  wouldst  have  had  them  hither.    Let  them 
be 

Dishonored  !    So  :  —  was  it  not  all  thy  deed  ? 
EDBURGA. 

Mine,  mine,  —  not  thine!     But  thou,  undo  my 
deed, 

And    cast    it    from    thee.  —  He    hath    spoken 
true  .  .  . 

Not  all,  not  all  !  —  But  yet,  'tis  I  have  clasped 

This  mantle  of  dishonor  round  thy  neck, 

That  is  so  foul  upon  thee.  —  I  saw  not  ;  — 

But  now  I  do  behold  .  .  .  and  all  is  strange. 

Yea,  I  hate  Cerdic  .  .  .  and  I  hate  myself  .  .  . 

I  bade  thee  do  it,  and  I  pray  thee  now, 

Hear  me  again,  and  do  it  not  ! 
^LFRIC  (as  she  clings  to  him  again). 

Edburga  ! 
EDBURGA. 

All  I  have  asked  of  thee,  —  unto  this  hour, 

Put  it  away  from  thee  and  me,  .  .  .  away  ! 

RIC. 

Edburga  ! 

(She  stands  up,  with  a  cry.) 

EDBURGA. 

Doubt  me  not.    Thou  dost  believe  ! 


26  THE  WINGS. 

I  loved  thee,  and  I  love  thee,  and  ...  I  love 

thee. — 

I  loved  thee  that  thou  wert  the  kingliest  man; 
And   I   have  made  thee  lesser. — Be  not  .  .  . 

less. 

The  people  love  thee  yet. — Ah,  but  they  shall ! 
I  did  not  know  .  .  .  but  now  .  .  . 

(Wistfully)     Thou  wilt  believe? — 
Undo  me  from  thy  neck. — Cast  me  away. — 
I  love  thee,  and  I  know  thou  didst  love  me. — 
Cast  me  away ! — 

(CERDIC  stretches  his  arms  out  to  them,  suddenly 
illumined  with  great  joy. ) 

CERDIC. 

O,  woman !— child.  .  .  .  God's  child. 

(They  turn  to  him,  perplexed,  EDBURGA  sobbing  at 
the  feet  of  ^ELFRIC.) 

Wilt  thou  forgive? 
EDBURGA  (doubting}. 

Forgive  thee,  Cerdic?  .  .  .  Ah!  .  .  . 
CERDIC. 

Then  hear  me;  and  forgive  when  I  have  done. 
I  took  thee  for  a  bitter  mockery 
Of  my  fair  dream.    Thou  wert  to  me  one  sent 
To  bow  my  pride,   who   deemed   my  prayer 

could  win 

The  blessed  Vision  .  .  . 
So  I  let  break  the  image  that  I  strove 
To  make  of  her ;  for  that  it  was  dishonored. 
I     brake     it  ...  and    my    heart     was     sore 

abased. — 
Blest  be  that  shame  and  sharpness ! — This  thy 

word 
Makes  me  to  know  the  answer  to  the  prayer, 


THE  WINGS.  27 

Now  that  I  see,  through  all  these  sevenfold 
veils  .  .  . 

The  Likeness!  .  .  . 
EDBURGA. 

Nay,  ...  to  Her? 
CERDIC. 

Even  to  her; 

Yea,  and  to  Him  who  did  so  love  the  world  :  — 

Love,  the  one  Likeness.  .  .  . 
^ELFRIC  (after  a  silence). 

Cerdic,  thou  shamest  me. 

(He  puts  up  his  sword.     EDBURGA  hides  her  face 
against  his  knees.) 

CERDIC. 

Lift  up  her  head,  and  set  her  by  thy  side.  .  .  . 
Wed  her.     Whom  thou  hast  humbled,  lift  her 

up.— 
The  gift  that  thou  hast  taken,  hold  it  high. 


Come  with  us,  Cerdic.  —  Be  at  our  right  hand. 
CERDIC. 

Not  yet.    For  I  have  lived  within  a  dream 
Too    long.  .  .  .  Not   yet   know    I    enough   of 

God,- 
Or  men. 

(As  they  turn  to  go,  EDBURGA  leaves  the  King's 
arms  irresolutely.  She  draws  near  the  bench 
and  gathers  up  the  fragments  of  the  broken 
stone  to  lay  them  together  with  a  half-fearful 
touch,  not  looking  at  CERDIC.  Exeunt  EDBURGA 
and  the  King.  —  CERDIC  follows  them  to  the 
threshold,  looking  out,  his  hands  held  after 
them  in  farewell.  There  is  a  sharp  command. 
The  torches  go,  and  the  footsteps  on  the  peb- 
bles. A  gust  of  wind  blows  suddenly;  and 


28  THE  WINGS. 

CERDIC  re-enters  with  a  hurt  sea-gull.  There 
is  the  faint  sound  of  the  Abbey  bell  once. 
CERDIC  comes  slowly  down  towards  the  bench 
and  the  stone  fragments,  his  face  setf  and  the 
sea-gull  held  close  to  his  breast. 

Ah,  Thou ! — Have  pity  on  all  broken  wings. 
CURTAIN. 


THE  WORLD'S  BEST  PLAYS 

By  Celebrated  European  Authors 

A    NEW    SERIES    OF    AMATEUR    PLAYS    BY    THE    BEST 
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GESTIONS    FOR     STAGING,     Etc.,    FOR    THE 
USE     OF     SCHOOLS,     COLLEGES,     AND 
DRAMATIC     CLUBS. 

BARRETT  H.   CLARK 
General   Editor 

Author  of   the   "Continental   Drama   of   Today,"    "Contempo- 
rary    French     Dramatists,"     translator     and     editor     of 
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The  Beneficent  Bear.  A  comedy  in  three  acts.  By  Goldoni. 
One  of  the  best-known  comedies  of  the  Father  of  Italian 
Comedy.  A  costume  piece  laid  in  18th  century  France  the 
principal  character  in  which  is  a  good-hearted,  though 
gruff,  old  uncle.  4  men,  3  women.  Price,  25  cents. 

Grammar  'La  Grammaire).  A  farce  in  one  act.  By  Labiche. 
An  amusing  and  charming  comedy  by  one  of  the  greatest 
of  19th  century  French  dramatists.  4  men,  1  woman 
Price,  25  cents. 

The  Two  Cowards  (Les  Deux  Timides).  A  comedy  in  one 
act.  By  Labiche.  A  very  amusing  and  human  little 
comedy,  in  which  a  strong-willed  girl  helps  her  father 
choose  for  her  the  man  she  wishes  to  marry.  2  women,  3 
men.  Price,  25  cents. 

Master  Patelin,  Solicitor.  A  comedy  in  three  acts.  Special 
version  by  Brueys.  One  of  the  most  famous  of  early 
French  farces.  The  setting  and  character  belong  to  the 
late  Middle  Ages.  The  play  is  concerned  with  the  ques- 
tionable dealings  of  a  clever  lawyer.  7  men,  2  women. 
Price,  25  cents. 

Crispin,  His  Master's  Rival.  A  comedy  in  one  act.  By  Le 
Sage.  A  famous  comedy  by  the  author  of  "Gil  Bias," 
concerned  with  the  pranks  of  two  clever  valets.  18tb 
century  costumes  and  settings.  4  men,  3  women.  Price 
25  cents. 

The  Legacy.  A  comedy  in  one  act.  By  Marivaux.  A  delicate 
high  comedy  of  intrigue.  Marivaux  is  one  of  the  master* 
of  old  French  comedy,  and  this  play  is  full  of  deft  louche* 
of  characterization.  2  women,  4  men.  Price  25  cents. 

After  the  Honeymoon.  A  farce  in  one  act.  By  Wolfgangr 
Gyalui.  A  Hungarian  farce  full  of  brilliant  dialogue  and 
movement.  1  man,  1  woman.  Price,  25  cents. 

A  Christmas  Tale.  A  poetic  play  by  Maurice  Bouchor.  A 
beautiful  little  miracle  play  of  love  and  devotion,  laid  in 
15th  century  Paris.  2  men,  2  women.  Price.  25  cents. 

Crainquebille.     A  play  in  three  scenes.     By  Anatole  France. 

A  delightful   series  of  pictures  of  Parisian   street  life,   by 

the    author    of    "The    Man    Who    Married    a    Dumb    Wife." 

12  men,   6  women.     Price  25  cents. 
Jean-Marie.     A  poetic  play  in  one  act.     By  Andre  Theuriet. 

A  pathetic  play  of  Norman  peasant  life.     2  men,  1  woman. 

Price,  25  cents. 
The   Rebound.     A  comedy   in  one  act.     By  L.   B.   Picard.     A 

clever  comedy  of  intrigue,  and  a  satire  of  social  position. 

2  women,   5  men.      Price,   25  cents. 

JLyststrata.  By  Aristophanes.  An  acting  version  of  this 
brilliant  satire  on  Athenian  foibles,  with  strikingly  modern 
features.  Choruses  versified  with  suggestion  of  A.'s  meter. 
4  men,  5  women,  1  child.  Chorus  of  old  men  and  one 
of  Greek  matrons,  about  15  in  each.  Text  is  accompanied 
with  full  outline  of  an  effective  color  scheme  for  costum- 
ing. Price,  25  cents. 


The  Twins.  By  Plautus.  7  males,  2  females.  A  Latin  farce, 
upon  which  Shakespeare  founded  his  Comedy  of  Error*. 
Price  25  cents. 

The  House  of  Fourchambanlt.  By  Emile  Augier.  4  males, 
4  females.  One  of  the  greatest  of  recent  French  family 
dramas.  Although  the  play  is  serious  in  tone,  it  contains 
touches  which  entitle  it  to  a  position  among  the  best 
comedies  of  manners  of  the  times.  Price  50  cents. 

The  Doctor  in  Spite  of  Himself  (Le  rnedecin  malgre  Lui). 
By  Moliere.  6  males,  3  females.  A  famous  farce  by  the 
greatest  of  French  dramatists.  Sganarelle  has  to  be 
beaten  before  he  will  acknowledge  that  he  is  a  doctor, 
which  he  is  not.  He  then  works  apparently  miraculous 
cures.  The  play  is  a  sharp  satire  on  the  medical  profes- 
sion in  the  17th  Century.  Price  25  cents. 

Bri^nol  and  His  Daughter.  By  Capus.  5  males,  4  females. 
The  first  comedy  in  English  of  the  most  sprightly  and 
satirical  of  present-day  French  dramatists  Price  50  cents. 

Choosing:  a  Career.  By  G.  A.  de  Caillavet.  Written  by  one 
of  the  authors  of  "Love  Watches."  A  farce  of  mistaken 
identity,  full  of  humorous  situations  and  bright  lines. 
Price  25  cents. 

French  Without  a  Master.  By  Tristan  Bernard.  5  males, 
2  females.  A  clever  farce  by  one  of  the  most  successful 
of  French  dramatists.  It  is  concerned  with  the  difficulties 
of  a  bogus-interpreter  who  does  not  know  a  word  of 
French.  Price  25  cents. 

Panurge's  Sheep.  A  comedy  in  one  act.  By  Meilhac  and 
Halevy.  A  famous  and  often-acted  little  play  based  upon 
the  obstinacy  of  a  charming  woman,  who  is  finally  induced 
to  marry.  1  man,  2  women.  Price,  25  cents. 

The  Law-Suit  (Der  Prozess).  A  comedy  in  one  act.  By 
Roderich  Benedix.  A  famous  comedy  by  the  well-known 
German-dramatist — author  of  "The  Obstinate  Family,"  and 
"The  Third  Man."  The  play  is  full  of  amusing  situations 
and  bright  lines.  5  men.  Price,  25  cents. 

The  Third  Man.  (Der  Dritte).  A  comedy  in  one  act.  By 
Roderich  Benedix.  A  highly  amusing  little  comedy  based 
upon  the  obstinacy  of  human  beings,  and  proves  the 
truth  of  the  saying  that  "love  finds  a  way."  3  women, 
1  man.  Price  25  cents. 

The  Sicilian  (Le  Sicilien).  A  farce  in  two  scenes.  By 
Moliere.  One  of  the  lighter  comedies  of  intrigue.  This 
play  is  laid  in  Sicily,  and  has  to  do  with  the  capture  of 
a  beautiful  Greek  slave  from  her  selfish  and  tyrannical 
master.  4  men,  3  women.  Price  25  cents. 

Doctor  Love  (L*  Amour  Medicin).  a  farce  in  three  acts  by 
Moliere.  An  uproarious  farce,  satirizing  the  medical  pro- 
fession. Through  it  runs  the  story  of  a  young  girl  who 
pretends  to  be  ill  in  order  that  she  may  marry  the  man 
she  loves.  5  men,  4  women.  Price  25  cents. 

The  Affected  Young  Ladies  (Les  Precieuses  ridicules).  A 
comedy  in  one  act  by  Moliere.  The  famous  satire  on 
intellectual  and  social  affectation.  Like  most  of  Moliere's 
plays,  the  theme  in  this  is  ever  modern.  3  women,  6  men. 
Price,  25  cents. 

The  Fairy  (La  Fee).  A  romantic  comedy  in  one  act.  By 
Octave  Feuillet.  Laid  in  a  hut  in  Normandy,  this  little 
comedy  is  full  of  poetic  charm  and  quiet  humor.  The 
element  of  the  supernatural  is  introduced  in  order  to  drive 
home  a  strong  lesson.  1  woman,  3  men.  Price,  25  cents. 


Rosalie.  By  Max  Maurey.  1  male,  2  females.  A  "Grand 
Guignol"  comedy  in  one  act,  full  of  verve  and  clever 
dialogue.  Rosalie,  the  stubborn  maid,  leads  her  none  too 
amiable  master  and  mistress  into  uncomfortable  compli- 
cations by  refusing-  to  open  the  front  door  to  a  supposed 
guest  of  wealth  and  influence.  Price  25  cents. 

The  Art  of  Being  Bored  (Le  Monde  ou  1'on  s'ennuie)  A 
comedy  in  three  acts.  By  Edouard  Pailleron.  11  males, 
9  females.  Probably  the  best-known  and  most  frequently 
acted  comedy  of  manners  in  the  realm  of  nineteenth 
century  French  drama.  It  is  replete  with  wit  and  comic 
situations.  For  nearly  forty  years  it  has  held  the  stage, 
while  countless  imitators  have  endeavored  to  reproduce 
its  freshness  and  charm.  Price  25  cents. 

A  Marriage  Proposal.  By  Anton  Tchekhoff.  2  males,  1 
female.  A  comedy  in  one  act,  by  one  of  the  greatest  of 
modern  Russian  writers.  This  little  farce  is  very  popular 
in  Russia,  and  satirizes  the  peasants  of  that  country  in 
an  amusing-  manner.  Price  25  cents. 

The  Green  Coat.  By  Alfred  de  Musset,  and  Emile  Augier. 
3  males,  1  female.  A  slight  and  comic  character  sketch 
of  the  life  of  Bohemian  artists  in  Paris,  written  by  one 
of  France's  greatest  poets  and  one  of  her  best-known 
dramatists.  Price  25  cents. 

The  Wager.  By  Giuseppe  Giacosa.  4  males,  1  female.  This 
one  act  poetic  comedy,  written  by  the  most  celebrated 
dramatist  of  modern  Italy,  was  the  author's  first  work. 
It  treats  of  a  wager  made  by  a  proud  young  page,  who 
risks  his  life  on  the  outcome  of  a  game  of  chess.  Price 
25  cents. 

Phormio.  A  Latin  comedy.  By  Terence.  11  males,  2  females. 
An  up-to-date  version  of  the  famous  comedy.  One  of  the 
masterpieces  of  Latin  drama;  the  story  of  a  father  who 
returns  to  find  that  his  son  has  married  a  slave  girl. 
Phormio,  the  parasite-villain  who  causes  the  numerous 
comic  complications,  succeeds  in  unraveling  the  difficulties, 
and  all  ends  happily.  Price  25  cents. 

The  Little  Shepherdess.  A  poetic  comedy  in  one  act.  By 
Andre  Rivoire.  1  male,  2  females.  A  charming  pastoral 
sketch  by  a  well-known  French  poet  and  dramatist. 
Played  with  success  at  the  Comedie  Francaise.  Price  25 
cent.s. 

The  Boor.  By  Anton  Tchekhoff.  2  males,  1  female.  A  well- 
known  farce  by  the  celebrated  Russian  master;  it  is 
concerned  with  Russian  characters,  and  portrays  with 
masterly  skill  the  comic  side  of  country  life.  Price  25 
cents. 

The  Blaek  Pearl.  By  Victorien  Sardou.  7  males,  3  females. 
One  of  Sardou's  most  famous  comedies  of  intrigue.  A 
house  has,  it  is  thought,  been  robbed.  But  through 
skilful  investigation  it  is  found  that  the  havoc  wrought 
has  been  done  by  lightning.  Price  25  cents. 
Charming  Leaiidre.  By  Theodore  de  Banville.  2  males,  I 
female.  The  author  of  "Gringoire"  is  here  seen  in  a 
poetic  vein,  yet  the  Frenchman's  innate  sense  of  humor 
recalls,  in  this  satirical  little  play,  the  genius  of  Moliere. 
Price  25  cents. 

The  Post-Script.  By  Emile  Augier.  1  male,  2  females. 
Of  this  one-act  comedy  Professor  Brander  Matthews 
writes:  "...  one  of  the  brightest  and  most  brilliant 
little  one-act  comedies  in  any  language,  and  to  be  warmly 
recommended  to  American  readers."  Price  25  cents. 


GAYLAMOUNT 
PAMPHLET  BINDER 

Manufactured  by 

GAYLORD  BROS.  Inc. 

Syracuse,  N.  Y. 

Stockton,  Calif. 


M202494. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


